Slaughter in the Ashes Read online

  Ben nodded. “Wonderful, Emil. Now take the reporters and go away.”

  As Emil, his gaggle of followers, and the reporters ambled off, Beth whispered, “Do you suppose Cecil really gave Emil the rank of general?”

  “You can bet I’m going to find out,” Ben told her. “Although I don’t know what I’m going to do about it if it’s true.” He paused, and then smiled. “Oh, yes, I do. Yes, indeed. I hope it is official. If that’s the case, Emil is now directly under my command.” Ben laughed.

  “You have a very wicked look in your eyes, General Ben,” Anna said.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen that look before,” Cooper said.

  “I’m thinking how Emil would like to be attached to the kitchen for the duration.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Beth warned.

  “Why?”

  “Then we’d all run the risk of being poisoned.”

  “I never thought of that,” Ben admitted.

  “Besides,” Corrie said, “you can’t put a general on KP.”

  “It was a good thought, though, boss,” Jersey told him. “We’ll all think about what to do with Emil.”

  Ben looked at her. “Jersey, I know what you’d like to do.”

  The diminutive bodyguard smiled. “Naw, I wouldn’t really shoot him. But Emil sure as hell thinks I would.”

  * * *

  Emil stayed out of Ben’s way and did his best not to draw Ben’s attention as the convoy traveled west. None of the reporters traveling with the Rebels would speak to Ben after the carnage (their words) at the little town, and that was fine with Ben. Emil, his entourage and the reporters were at the rear of the column, and Ben hoped they all stayed there.

  Ben spent a day and a night at Socorro before turning west on old Route 60. The town, which once boasted a population of about 15,000 was now reduced to less than 500 people. But they were solid Tri-Staters and determined to remain that way.

  Ben had supplies flown in and made sure the residents had everything they needed to continue growing. Then the column moved on.

  The spokesperson for the group in Socorro warned Ben that the punks were going to be in force from that point on, if the Rebels stayed on their present route.

  “I plan to stay on it all the way,” Ben said, not giving the man the slightest clue where “all the way” might end. “You wouldn’t happen to know what gangs we might run into next down the line, would you?”

  “I sure do, general. My people have scouted them out pretty well. Some punk by the name of Les Justice, and two more gangs run by a punk calls himself Jack Brittain, and the other gang is headed up by a road whore named Karen Carr. And that slut is one mean person. She is bad to the bone, believe it.”

  “Oh, I believe you,” Ben replied. “I’ve seen some of her work.” He smiled. “But Ms. Carr is about to run up against the baddest dog on the block.”

  “And that’s you, general?”

  “That’s me.”

  * * *

  It wasn’t much of a fight. The baddest dog on the block didn’t even have to growl all that much. The Rebels hit the punk-occupied town at dawn with artillery and blew it apart. Ben ordered the reporters kept in the rear, so, as he put it, “The sight of vicious career criminals being killed wouldn’t traumatize them for the rest of their lives and probably render them incapable of earning an honest living.”

  The reporters did not see the humor in Ben’s remarks.

  Ben and his team walked through the ruins of the still-smoking town. This time, despite Ben’s request that they stay in the rear, the reporters came along.

  “Be sure and bring along a box of tissues,” Ben told Beth. “So these left-wing assholes can have something to wipe their weepy eyes with.”

  “Or have a snit on,” Jersey added.

  “That, too,” Ben said with a smile.

  The press was grim-faced as they toured the shattered town, doing their best to avoid looking at the torn-apart bodies. To their credit, none of them lost their breakfast, but Ben could tell that was accomplished only with a great effort on their part. None of them were about to give Ben the satisfaction of seeing them barf.

  Dozens of punks had escaped the barrage, but they didn’t get far. There were snipers placed in a wide circle around the town. A few punks did manage to get clear of the killing field, scattering in all directions. Those few might return to a life of crime, but more importantly, the backs of the gangs involved had been broken and the heads cut off.

  When Ben ordered his people to mount up and move out, leaving the bodies unburied, the reporters went into a towering snit.

  “That is inhuman!” Ms. Braithwaithe-Honnicker howled. “They deserve a decent burial.”

  “Why?” Ben asked, as he rolled a cigarette. “They weren’t decent people.”

  “Besides,” Anna said, “the carrion birds have a right to eat.”

  “You are a very callous young lady,” Ms. Honeysuckle said.

  “Big deal,” Anna replied, and walked away.

  “Is that attitude typical of the Rebels, general?” Mayfield asked.

  Ben knew a loaded question when it was fired at him. He smiled and said, “We all have different personalities and outlooks on life.”

  The shattered body of Karen Carr was pointed out to Ben. He compared the ripped and explosives-mutilated body with a picture his intelligence people had found and grunted.

  “That’s her,” he said. “Or what’s left of her. We can close another chapter in the book.”

  “The poor girl,” Ms. Honeyducker moaned. “I’m sure her life was filled with abuse and poverty.”

  Ben gave the woman a very dirty look. “Lady, half the people in the Rebel army grew up in abject poverty in the aftermath of the Great War.” His voice was harsher than he intended it to be. “Many of the other half grew up in families that were staggering and struggling for years under an unfair tax burden brought on by liberal Democrats. Don’t talk to me about the poor, poor criminal. We all control, to a very large degree, our own destinies. So just knock off the whiny liberal bullshit when you’re around me. It’s making me nauseous.”

  The reporter matched the general look for look, but she kept her mouth closed, which was what Ben wanted.

  “Have the bodies of Brittian and Justice been found?” Ben asked.

  “No,” Corrie replied. “But when we talked with a few of those left alive they said they were together in the lab when it blew. Nobody got out of that place in one piece.”

  “Dreadful!” Ms. Braithwaithe-Honnicker said, holding a handkerchief to her dainty nose, then marched off with the other reporters. To have a snit, Ben figured. Having snits was such a private thing.

  Ben spread a map on the hood of a HumVee and traced a line with a fingertip. “We’ll cut south, staying with this road. There is a useable airport here—or at least there used to be. Have the scouts check it out and if possible, we’ll resupply there. Then we’ll cut north and come up behind Ray Brown. Have those designated troops begin a slow drift off from the convoy. Any word at all from Mike Richards?”

  “Not a peep, boss.”

  “Let’s roll.”

  At a small town some miles south, the Rebels cleaned up the old regional airport and waited for the cargo planes to come in. Mike Richards picked that day to show up. He was haggard and dirty, and had lost weight, but he was alive. He came wandering in with a group of resistance fighters who looked to be in just as bad shape as Mike.

  “It’s been hell, I can tell you that,” the chief of Rebel intelligence told Ben, after wolfing down two sandwiches and a couple cups of coffee.

  “What happened, Mike?” Ben asked.

  “I hooked up with a guerrilla unit and we got cut off deep in Border’s territory. Radio took a hit and was useless. We’ve been running and dodging and hiding ever since. Simon’s gone on a rip-roaring rampage against any who don’t fully support him and his movement. He’s blocked all roads—and I mean all roads leading into his territory. T
oo many people were trying to get out and get clear of that so-called religious leader. He’s a fanatic, Ben. There is no other word to describe him.”

  “He’s killing those opposed to him?”

  Mike nodded his head. “Yes. Some of them. Imprisoning others. Making slaves out of some. Simon has really gone off the deep end.”

  “His army?”

  “Not much in the way of tanks or artillery, old stuff mostly, but he’s got several million men and women under arms.” Mike took a deep pull from his refilled coffee mug. “It sure as hell won’t be an easy nut to crack, I can tell you that.”

  Ben frowned. It was not what he wanted to hear, but it really came as no surprise. “So you figure we’ll be tied up fighting Simon for some time?”

  “A long time, Ben. Surely months, maybe years.”

  “I was afraid you’d say something like that.”

  “It’s the truth. As hard as it is to have to say, it’s the truth.”

  Ben sighed and leaned back in his chair. “We’ll deal with the punks, then turn our attention toward Simon Border. I damn sure can’t have the punks behind me and Simon in front of me.”

  “I can tell you that you’ve got about eight more gangs to go through before you get to Ray Brown.”

  “You know his exact location?”

  “I do. I can pinpoint it for you on a map.”

  “Later. Right now, get some rest. We’ll be moving out as soon as we’re resupplied.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather head back out with the group I came in with.”

  “No problem. They look tough enough.”

  “There are about 10,000 just like them scattered all over Simon’s territory. They been fighting Simon ever since he arrived out here. They might not share our political philosophy, but they share one thing in common.”

  “And that is?”

  “They despise Simon Border with an intensity that would be difficult to put into words.”

  “That’s good enough for me. I’ll tell supply to give you anything you want. Including,” Ben said with a smile, “a spare radio.”

  “Make it a small one. Traversing those mountain trails are hard on an old man.”

  “I hope I don’t have to find out just how hard they are.”

  “Ben?”

  “Yes?”

  “Gear yourself up mentally for a long campaign against Simon and his followers. It’s going to be one of the most difficult wars we’ve ever fought.”

  “What are the odds of any mass surrender?”

  “Slim to none.”

  “You’re just filled with good cheer, aren’t you?”

  Mike grinned. “Simon says he has God on his side.”

  “I doubt that, Mike. I really doubt that.”

  “Do we, Ben?”

  “I think God is neutral in this, Mike. I think He’s been waiting for thousands of years for humankind to strike a happy balance.”

  “Think we’ll ever make it?”

  “I know this much—Simon Border won’t. His time is running out.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “We didn’t get the sister of the brother-and-sister team,” Ben was informed. “She’s out of town. Her brother told us that just before he died.”

  “Did he say where out of town?”

  “No, sir. But we did find the body of Dale Jones. Or rather, what was left of it. A few gang members got away, but not many. No more than a dozen, tops.”

  Ben glanced at Beth and she said, “That leaves eight major gang leaders still out there. And intel reports that Ray Brown has three of them—Sandy Allen, Dave Holton, and one more whose name is unknown to us.”

  “How many surrendered?”

  “Eighteen. Nine men and nine women.”

  “And never any kids,” Ben mused.

  “We haven’t seen any yet on this push. Not that belong to the punks, anyway.”

  “Odd.”

  “I have some good news and some bad news, boss,” Corrie said, walking up.

  “Give me the good news first, please.”

  “Cecil just got word that the governments south of the border are cracking down on drug traffickers, coming down hard on them. The heads of those governments are asking for our patience and understanding. They’re working as hard as they can to stem the flow of raw materials.”

  “I recall that same line before the Great War,” Ben replied. He waggled a big hand from side to side. “But that’s President Jefferys’s and Secretary Blanton’s area of expertise. We’ll let them worry about that and wish them good luck. Now give me the bad news.”

  “When we finish with Simon Border, the Secretary General of the UN wants us to go to Africa.”

  Ben took that bit of news calmly, for it came as no surprise. Although he had voiced his objections about going to Africa many times, to many people, he’d been expecting the request to go. He shook his head and sighed. “Well, we certainly have the time to think about that. And we will give it a lot of thought. Mount up, people. Let’s finish the job at hand and then see if I can talk some sense into Simon Border.”

  “It’ll never happen,” Anna said.

  “What?” Ben asked. “Going to Africa?”

  “No. Talking some sense into Simon Border.”

  “Stranger things have happened, Anna.”

  “Name one.”

  “I was afraid you were going to ask that. Come on. Let’s roll.”

  The column was significantly smaller now, and there was nothing Ben could do about that. Three battalions that had been held in reserve had joined the battalions that had split away from the main column. One had linked up with Buddy’s column, one had joined Jackie Malone, and the third with Jim Peters. Ben’s 1 Batt and Dan’s 3 Batt were moving up from the south. Ray Brown and those gangs with him were now in a box.

  The Rebels had passed through several towns where the punks were reported to be holding out. They found only the signs of a very hasty retreat, and all indications showed that the punks moved north, to link up with Ray Brown.

  “Got you,” Ben said with a smile, just moments before he turned his own short column north for the final assault against the punks.

  In his stronghold in the mountains and forests of Arizona, Ray Brown took the news philosophically, for this time the career criminal knew he was boxed in tight with no place to run.

  “I thought Simon Border was supposed to help us when Raines started his push against us?” Sandy Allen asked.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Ray responded. “Border was using us, man, that’s all.”

  “Why?”

  “To get Raines deep inside his claimed territory, that’s why.”

  “Raines will kick his ass, Ray.”

  “He might,” Ray said with a smile. “But it won’t be easy. Simon’s got a couple of million men and women under arms. They’ll kill a lot of Rebels before it’s all said and done.”

  “Ray, aren’t you scared a bit?”

  The gang leader thought about that for a moment, then shook his head. “Naw. Me and Raines had to meet sometime. This is as good a time as any. Just like I said before, Raines has got to be 50 years old at least. Hell, he’s past his prime. I’ll take him out with one hand.”

  “But all our plans . . . ?”

  “It’s over, Sandy,” Ray said. “Done. We had a good thing going for six months or so, now it’s done.”

  “So now we start over, right?”

  Ray smiled and again shook his head. “Maybe a few of us will, Sandy. But for most of us, it’s over. We’re in a box. By the time those dumbasses tracking Raines figured it out, it was too late. Raines has moved in about three of his beefed-up battalions in addition to what swung off from the column along the way. We’re trapped.”

  “How about slippin’ out a few at a time?” another gang leader suggested.

  “You can try it. Fine with me. Some of you might make it. But I’m stayin’ here and facin’ hot-shot Raines. We’re gonna settle this thing once
and for all.”

  “OK, Ray,” the gang leader said. He stood in front of Ray for a moment, shuffling his feet. “Ah . . .”

  “Oh, hell, Buzz!” Ray told him, no anger in his words. “You can cut out anytime you like. I’m not gonna feel hard toward you. But I will tell you that the odds of you making it clear are real poor. Look here, man.” Ray stood up and moved to a map of the state. “We’re here, Buzz.” He put a finger on the map. “Right here in this little town. There’s a main road goin’ east and west and a main road goin’ north and south. Raines has all them blocked. There’s all kinds of dirt and gravel roads runnin’ in all directions. Raines has them blocked, too. Raines has put an entire battalion of special operation troops all around this town. They’re layin’ ’bout ten miles out in a huge circle, just waitin’ for someone to try to make a break for it. He’s got snipers out there with long-range .50-caliber rifles just waitin’ to kill somebody. You ever seen a .50-caliber rifle, Buzz? No? You’ll never hear the round that drills you, man. You’re dead before the sound reaches you. You’ve heard the sounds of helicopters and planes for the last two, three days, haven’t you, Buzz? Sure you have. Those are part of Raines’ army. Those are helicopter gun-ships and those damn souped-up and reworked P-51Es. They’re in the air during the day, weather permitting, looking for somebody to kill . . . and that’s us, Buzz. At night, Raines doubles up the patrols.” Ray smiled. “He’s a thorough bastard, give him that.”

  “You . . . knew all along that Raines was gonna do this?”

  “Sure. It’s Raines’s style. I been studyin’ the bastard for years. But,” Ray sighed, “I was figurin’ on a little more time to get clear. The son-of-a-bitch outfoxed me. That’s life, Buzz. Take the good with the bad, man. But there just might be a way out. One way. Now listen, you people—when the artillery bombardment starts, we cut out, on foot. I mean, we get clear of this town just as fast as shank’s mare can carry us. We go in all directions. We take two, three days’ supply of food and water, a blanket, a poncho, and a weapon. That’s all. We got to travel light. Some of us will make it. Not many, ’cause the goin’ is gonna be tough as hell. But a few of us will make it If we can get four or five miles clear of this town, we hole up. We find us a spot to hide and we make like gophers and we don’t move. The Rebels will look over what’s left of the town, and then pull out. It’s the way they been doing it ever since he began this push, weeks ago. We can’t try to run before the artillery barrage begins. Raines is anticipating us doin’ that. We got to time this just right Now get on back and talk to your people. Get some supplies together. Keep two canteens filled up to the brim. Be ready to go. Go on, get out of here.”